Does love make fools of us?
or loneliness?
Perhaps they hold hands
and skip around like two idiots
in puddles of tears
and sad mud

And what do I serve with tea?

Of a cake layered with words - a slice
A croissant with stirring smilies
A quiche with quaint archaic spice -
Fresh from a poet's repository.

In the clink and chime of quills and pots
And spoons that stir the brewing tea
Dark or creamed, winter or spring
Here's to a cup of poetry.

Is it the wave kissing the sand
          or is it the ocean
                   deep from her heart
sometimes gently,
                                  often hard,
but always with passion?

Is it the sand kissing back
        or is it the land
            happily losing ground
with every kiss
             to his eternal mistress,
the occupant of his soul?

I can't see  the forest
For the beaches
Or the sand for the mountains or the valley for the meadow
Or the particulars for
The details.

But, once in a while,
On a fair day
I can smell the breeze
Off the beach
Through the meadow
Flow over the valley
To the forest at the edge

Of the mountains shadow.
Under the fairest blue
straining
To gorge my senses
With
that scented view.

Hate to the core !!
Wish to die !!
Hate being  a girl !!
Wish to die !!